


Echo

by judelaw



Category: The Young Pope (TV)
Genre: Lots of Angst, and absent parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 05:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9420011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/judelaw/pseuds/judelaw
Summary: [Spoilers for Episode 7] Lenny deadling with the afthermath of the phony parents.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a native speaker so I apologize for any major mistakes or sentences that might be weirdly worded.  
> I also apologize for my fake-deep writing style.

Inhale.

_It wasn’t them._  
  
Exhale.  
  
_Of course, it wasn’t._  
  
Slow but steady steps echo through the painted floors of the Vatican. He tries to focus. Focus on the steps. To just keep going. Right. Left. The halls are too big and too long. He never noticed how wide they were. And yet they overwhelm him. Crush him. They used to be colorful, he remembers. But now they turned grey.  
  
_Of course, it wasn’t them._  
  
_Why would they suddenly care about you?_  
  
He almost reaches the door as focusing on the heavy, painfully loud steps becomes too hard. His vision blurs.  
  
_They **never** cared about you._  
  
He always used to admire the wonderful paintings around him. They were expressive and impressive. And especially wise. Magnificent paintings that capture so much and express it in yet so little. And they always reassured him. But now he can’t stop hearing their laughs. Their laughs about his stupidity. He was stupid to think they actually cared about him. Even if it was just for a few seconds. Even if it was just for a heartbeat. He is ashamed of his stupidity, his naivety. How could he be so blind? So unbelievably blind. 

He blinked. And moved. Echoing steps. Laughing.  
  
He was so naive to think they reached out to him. After 40 years of silence. Of absence. Sending him the missing piece of his pipe. The missing piece of his heart. The piece he was stupid enough to lose so many years ago. The piece he lost due to his own incapability. It was his own fault.

_Why would they care?_

The steps are silent again. The laughing isn’t. 

His tired hand reaches out for the door in front of him. It is a blurry mess, he can barely see. But he knows it is there. It always was and would always be. This strange, wooden entrance that can lead to so many things. And can also lead to nothing. 

The door opens without a sound but it still seems too loud to be real. He gets welcomed by a cold breeze, that found its way into his rooms through the windows someone must have let carelessly open. It was probably himself. He shivers. But he can’t bother to find the source of the cold. He would get used to it sooner or later. 

He makes his way through his rooms until he reaches his bed, which always felt strange and remote to him. Unlike the cold breeze, it wasn’t welcoming him at all. 

Inhale. 

_But it felt good._

Exhale. 

For a moment it felt good, so good. Too good. It felt like coming home. Or how he imagines coming home feels like. It was beautiful. Way too beautiful. But reality wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. He knew that and always knew that. 

He sat down on his bed. Still breathing but yet- 

_Home._

“Expel these imposters from my home, immediately.” His own voice, now feeling as distant as the echo of his own steps, resounds through his head. Home. _My_ home. 

The radio is on and quietly playing some song in the background. He can barely make out what song it is. The reception actually did get better, he recognizes in strange apathetic way. They did take care of it at last. But it is still hard to understand. 

As he is lying down, looking at the celling, something suddenly drills into his thigh. Something disgusting, something incredibly heavy. Something whole that is yet so far from being whole. He pulls the pipe out to look at it. It is an ugly piece of wood. So old. Possibly older than him. A distant, haunting memory he’d rather forget but yet kept with him to remind himself to wait. And search. Every single day. 

His eyes are suddenly clear as he tosses the object across the room with an unusual, violent force. 

It makes a dumb noise as it hits the wall and falls to the ground. The impact made it crack but it didn’t break. Yet. 

He doen’t care. It has become worthless. Or has always been worthless? He can’t remember. He can’t even remember anything. And he can’t see. Everything is a blurred mess, everything is somehow hazy. He presses his hands against his eyes. He only wants to see. He so desperately wants to be able to finally see. And the pain. The pain in his chest. This discomfort. He always tells himself it’ll go away. But it never does. Even if he can’t feel it for a moment, it’s still there. And it always will be. 

He wished he couldn’t feel at all. Or feel everything. 

Breathing becomes harder now. 

It slowly turns into sobbing. 

And then into silence. 

_No one is there._

_Not even God is._


End file.
